The Devil's Ransom, page 24
If it had been a large hotel, with four stories and hundreds of rooms, we could have spent a few hours trying to determine the precise location on the inside, as there would be plenty of people coming and going. Once that was done, we’d enter and bash that guy on the head, putting him behind a computer. With only five, and the expense of the stay—guaranteeing concierge services at all hours—it was a good bet that the front desk knew every person staying there and would question us trying to enter. They probably had a dedicated person for every room.
So we were going to have to do it the hard way—box the exits to the hotel and wait on him to leave.
I’d dispatched Jennifer to get us a hotel on the north side of town, a place where we could rack out as we rotated, and possibly take our suspect once we got him. Then we’d started surveillance of the site.
The problem with our technology and the geolocation feature of the phone was that we had to ping it to get a location. It wasn’t like an Uber or Lyft ride, where we could track the driver—or in this case, the phone. All we could get was a geolocation on each ping. So far it was still inside the building, so we knew he was in there, but now we’d have to physically watch until he left.
The hotel was sandwiched between two small alleys left and right of the building, with the lobby entrance on one and a service entrance on the other. There was a terrace restaurant on one end overlooking the ocean, but I didn’t think he’d leap over that unless he was chased, so we set up on the two exits and waited.
It got harder as the night went on, as the crowds of tourists grew less and less, leaving us vulnerable to compromise. We resorted to putting a Bluetooth button camera on the doors, with the surveillance bumper positions finding a spot to sit that was close enough to see the feed. I stationed myself on the beach wall with a fishing pole I’d found on the ground, hoping to look like I was just a fisherman out early in the morning. I’d left Jennifer in the hotel to coordinate the rotation of the teams and keep in constant contact with the Taskforce, and then we’d begun the painfully boring work of watching and waiting for a chance to bag his ass.
By 5 a.m., acting as the surveillance chief, I’d rotated everyone through the two sites once, letting the folks get a little shut-eye in the hotel room before pulling them back in. I was getting groggy, but knew time was precious. It would’ve been perfect if we could have taken him in the night, but that hadn’t happened, and because of it, I wouldn’t be getting a rotation. I wanted to be on the ground when he left.
At 0605, right before the sun crested the horizon, I had Brett on the lobby entrance and Veep on the service one, Jennifer on the net for control, and Knuckles getting some rack time.
Jennifer called me direct and said, “How’s it going?”
I said, “So far, all quiet. What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just trying to stay awake.”
“You want to switch out with Knuckles?”
“No. He just got here. I had some sleep when you switched out Brett.”
My earpiece was overridden with Brett saying, “Contact. Target is leaving the building. I have him.”
I told Jennifer, “Gotta go,” then switched to the team net saying, “Direction and distance?”
“Out the lobby door, headed north in the alley. Veep, Veep, can you back me up?”
“On the way.”
I stood up, laid the fishing pole where I’d found it, and said, “I’m on trailer. Give me a call if you need some help, but the minute you get him in a secure area, take his ass down.”
I jogged across the road and went up the stairs into the old town, entering the narrow stone alley next to the boutique hotel. The bad thing about the alleys here was that it was impossible to follow someone for more than a few turns until they knew you were behind them. The good thing was that we could take this guy down without anyone seeing, if we got him in the right spot. And at this time of day, everything would be the right spot. I slowed to a fast walk, not wanting to step on the surveillance effort.
“This is Blood, still on five-five. He’s entered a courtyard and there’s nobody around. He’s going to know I’m following if I continue.”
Veep said, “I circled around to the alley leading out. Hold back. He’ll walk right past me.”
I called, “Location?”
Veep said, “Next to a stairwell for something called the Marco Polo House. Stand by. I see him. He’s looking around. Appears to be hesitant.”
“From us?”
“No. We’re clean. Don’t know why.”
“Brett, can you close?”
“Yeah, I’m right outside the courtyard.”
“Are we clean?”
Veep said, “This is Veep. Nothing on my side.”
Brett came on, saying, “This is Blood. I’m clean here.”
Veep said, “He’s climbing the stairs.”
Running up the alley, I said, “Take him. Now. Get him on the ground, get a barrel in the face, and let’s exfil to the hotel.”
Brett said, “Roger that.”
The next thing I heard was the unmistakable sound of a suppressed weapon. Hollywood will have you believe the weapon is almost silent, but it’s not. It’s just not as loud as a gunshot. Even with a suppressor, the report reverberated against the stone walls. I drew my Glock and began sprinting. By the time I saw the courtyard entrance, Brett and Veep were rounding the corner back into my alley, weapons drawn but unhurt.
I reached them and said, “What happened?”
Veep glanced around the corner and said, “He reached the top of the stairs and someone stuck a gun out, shooting at us.”
“Someone in that museum has a suppressed pistol?”
Brett said, “Yep. No idea who, and I don’t think Branko did, either. He was jerked off his feet and thrown inside.”
“The Afghans? Is it them?”
Veep said, “No way. The guy was a tall Caucasian, dressed like he was on a security contract. Definitely not the Afghans.”
“So someone’s helping him. We need to get a box on this building right now. Don’t let them out. I got the front door. Find the back.”
They took off through the alleys and I called Jennifer, saying, “Koko, we’re at a place called the Marco Polo House and we’ve made contact. Give me what you know.”
I heard nothing for a second while she worked the computer, then she came back, saying, “It’s a museum, but it’s not open now. Doesn’t open until nine a.m. It’s supposedly the house Marco Polo lived in.”
I said, “I don’t care about its pedigree; the target is inside and we have the front door locked down. How can he get out?”
“Stand by, checking. Knuckles is coming.”
I called the team, “Blood, Veep, status?”
“Trying to find the back of the building. The house itself cuts the alleys in half, and the ones we are on are running parallel. Trying to find a cutoff.”
I said, “Koko, anything?”
“They can get out over the roofs from the third floor, but they’ll be trapped and unable to get down after a few buildings. They can jump out the window on the second floor to a courtyard, and they have a clean run to the end of the island.”
I said, “All elements, all elements, it’s the window. Get to the back. They’re probably jumping now.”
Veep came back, saying, “We can’t find a perpendicular alley.”
I heard a noise behind me and saw Knuckles running up. He said, “You were going to let me sleep through the high adventure?”
I said, “No. Get ready.”
On the net, I said, “I’m going in.”
Jennifer said, “Wait for backup, Pike.”
“Knuckles just showed up. They aren’t coming out the front, and going in that way would be the last thing they would expect. Veep, Blood, continue to the back.”
I turned to Knuckles and said, “You ready?”
“What are we up against?”
“At least one guy with a suppressed pistol”—meaning the people inside had some skill—“maybe more, but I don’t think so. He took a few shots at Blood and Veep, but didn’t continue the fight. He’s here for Branko just like we are, and he’s trying to run.”
He glanced around the corner and said, “Stairwell to the second floor?”
“Yep.”
He shook his head and said, “Man, I hate stairwells. Get on them, and you’re committed.”
“You can have low.”
He racked a round into his own suppressed Glock and said, “Won’t get any arguments from me.”
We took off running with him in the front. He knelt down behind the stone banister on the right, his weapon trained on the entrance of the door, and I went up the stairs on the left, running flat out, knowing he was my protection. I reached the top, rolled to the left of the frame where the knob was, and took a knee, now with my barrel on the door.
In seconds he was on the landing, his own barrel out on the right side of the frame. I looked at him, he nodded, and I reached forward, turning the knob and flinging open the door. He flowed in with me right behind him, he went left and I went right, but there was nobody there. It was an empty room with plaques on the wall and display cases circling the area.
Knuckles nodded to a room off the back and we flowed that way, clearing the same way as before. It was empty yet again, but this one had a display case overturned and an open window, the curtains blowing in the wind.
I went to it and looked out, seeing Brett and Veep rounding the corner into the courtyard. They looked up at me, weapons aimed, and I waved them off, saying, “Shit. They’re gone.”
I got on the net and said, “Jennifer, pack our stuff. Everyone else, return to the hotel. They’re on the run and trying to get off this island.”
Chapter 48
Crossing the Franjo Tudjman Bridge, which spanned a spit of water running into the Adriatic Sea, the outskirts of Dubrovnik on the other side, Shakor saw people attached to harnesses and standing on a ledge. His first thought was that they were being executed for something heinous that they’d done. Public executions were something he was very familiar with. The Taliban hadn’t done something like this yet, but it was only because they didn’t have a bridge such as this on which to execute the people who defied their beliefs.
He said, “What is that? Are they criminals?”
Driving the vehicle, Drago laughed, then saw Shakor’s scowl. He hurriedly said, “No, no. They’re bungee jumping. They’re tourists.”
“What does that mean?”
“They attach what’s really a giant rubber band to their legs, and the tourists jump over the bridge, the harness slowing them before they hit the water. It’s a thrill thing.”
Shakor shook his head, unable to assimilate the stupidity of someone putting their own life at risk while only protected by a rubber band. But even given what Drago said, he wasn’t sure he believed him. After the Bosnia crossing, he knew he had to keep a close eye on his escort. Drago would do whatever it took to get away.
After forcing Drago out of the cellars in the old town of Split, they’d reached the road to the ferry terminal where Shakor’s car was parked, and Drago had made a scene, hoping to escape with the help of the tourists.
As soon as he’d seen Shakor’s men unlocking the doors to two rental cars, he knew he was done, and had taken off running, thinking nobody would shoot him in broad daylight. He’d shouted in Russian, Serbian, and English, begging for help, threading through the cars, hoping to make it to the security guard at the gate.
Shakor was on him in an instant, punching his kidney hard enough to cause him to collapse between the vehicles. Shakor stood up over his body, looked around, and saw some curious stares, but nobody came to investigate. He’d leaned over Drago and said, “You do something like that again, and I’ll bash your head in. Do you understand?”
Wheezing, Drago nodded.
They’d loaded up and traveled south to the next safehouse that Drago knew, on the outskirts of Dubrovnik. He’d told Shakor that it was a straight shot down the coast, and then they’d hit a queue of cars at a border crossing, causing Shakor enormous concern.
He’d said, “What is this?”
“It’s the Bosnian crossing. We have to pass it to get to Dubrovnik.”
“We have to pass through another country? And you knew this?”
Now afraid, seeing the anger, Drago had said, “Yes. Everyone knows this. Bosnia owns a spit of land that splits Croatia in two. It’s been that way for centuries.”
Shakor said, “Could we have taken a ferry and avoided it?”
Drago inched the car forward and nodded, the fear growing. Shakor said, “What’s it take to cross? We don’t have a visa for Bosnia.”
“Nothing, I promise. You’re supposed to have a visa, but everyone uses this road. They won’t ask.”
Shakor saw they were next in line, pulled out his pistol, and jammed it into Drago’s side, saying, “You do anything to cause us trouble, and you’ll be dead. Do you understand?”
Drago nodded again, and the next thing Shakor knew, they were through the crossing. Drago had been right, but Shakor was sure he’d had something else planned. Now on the outskirts of Dubrovnik, he wasn’t giving him any leverage.
They finished crossing the bridge and Drago took the first exit, looping around and heading toward the Adriatic Sea. Shakor felt his antennae rise again and said, “Where are we going? I thought it was in Dubrovnik?”
“Well, Dubrovnik is the closest city, so we say it’s there. It’s in Lapad, on the coast right here. Dubrovnik is like ten minutes away.”
Shakor gave him the death stare, and Drago said, “I’m not lying! This is the house.”
The road looped around under the bridge, passing by a marina, and then entered a peninsula, Drago saying, “This is Lapad.”
He started driving down narrow two-lane roads, the steep slope to the ocean on the left and the hills rising on the right. Eventually he pulled over into a small parking area with about ten slots for cars, most already taken. He found one and said, “We walk from here.”
“Walk?”
“The house is down the hill, on the coast. It doesn’t have a road. Branko was always adamant not to get a house where a car could drive up to the front door. He always wanted a way out.”
Shakor looked down the hill, seeing a staircase disappearing into the vegetation, the twinkling waters of the Adriatic off in the distance. He could just barely see the roof of a building.
He said, “Is that it?”
Drago nodded. Shakor looked back up the hill, to the houses higher that had car access. He said, “Why would having road access matter? Why no cars?”
“He wanted early warning before someone showed up to crash us. That’s all. It’s the reason he had the place in Split. No way for a car to roll right up.”
Shakor opened the door and got out, seeing the slope with the staircase spilling down the hill. He thought a moment, then said, “Because you could control anyone coming on foot?”
Shakor saw Drago’s reaction and knew. “You have early warning for people coming, don’t you? The people in that house can see us coming down?”
“No, no. It’s not that. Branko just didn’t like cars.”
Shakor bashed his head into the door frame and said, “I should kill you right now, but I’m not. Call them. Tell them you’re coming with friends of Branko.”
Drago looked left and right, then said, “I . . . I can’t call them. I don’t even know who’s there. We should just walk down and knock on the door.”
Shakor pulled out his pistol and slammed it into Drago’s cheek, ripping the skin, then grabbed his skull by the hair and bashed his head into the car door again. He said, “I’m sick of you trying to trick me. Call them.”
Drago cowered, a hand to his cheek. He felt the blood, and nodded, saying, “Okay, okay, okay. I’ll try.”
He dialed the phone, said something in a language that Shakor didn’t understand, and then hung up, saying, “We’re good.”
“What did you say?”
“What you wanted me to!”
Shakor didn’t believe him for a minute, but it was too late now. He should have specified the language before the call. But then again, the people in the house would have been on high alert if Drago had spoken in English instead of his native language.
A problem set he didn’t predict and now couldn’t stop.
He poked Drago’s back and said, “Let’s go. You first. I honestly don’t care if any one of them run from me, but if they alert Branko, I’ll hunt all of you down.”
His hands up, Drago said, “Nobody’s heard from Branko in two days. He’s probably not here.”
Shakor pushed him down the stairs and said, “That won’t work out well for you.”
They went past another building on the hill, the stairs snaking through the foliage, and then the upper deck of the house appeared below them, the stairs continuing to the coastline.
Shakor said, “Go ahead and knock. Let them know we’re here.”
Drago swallowed and went to the door, knowing what was going to happen. He rang the bell, and the door opened wide, the man behind it saying, “Come on in!” With a huge smile on his face.
Shakor pushed Drago to the side and smacked the man in the temple with his weapon, knocking him to the floor. His men entered, running through the place looking for Branko. An unknown man tried to flee down a stairwell and was shot in the back, his body falling forward like a doll, smashing into the stairs and rolling to the bottom. In short order, they found that Branko was not there.
Shakor found Drago cowering in a corner and said, “Where’s Branko?”
“I don’t know! I told you that. He lost his phone and has a new one. I don’t have his number anymore. He’ll come here. I promise he’ll come here.”
